Ashton slides in first and Drew sits beside him across from us. Where Ashton glowers at me, Drew is watching me, analyzing my every move not unlike how he studies the way his players play.
“A pitcher of beer for the table,” Drew says to the waitress. “Maybe some fried mushrooms to get us started.”
No one flinches that he orders for everyone, not even me. That’s Drew for you. Taking charge like fucking usual.
“You look super familiar,” the woman says, angling her body so she looks at Drew. “You come here a lot?”
“First time,” he says.
“He used to play for the NHL but then…” I let my words die off, leaving him hanging because I’m a prick.
His blue eyes turn icy, though his smile for her is warm. “I coach the Ice Hawks now.”
“That’s awesome!” she praises. “I’ll grab your beer and put in your appetizer order. Be right back.”
As soon as she’s gone, Ashton zeroes in on me.
“So your asshole-ness isn’t just directed at me. Drew gets it too? Good to know you’re an equal opportunity dickhead.”
“Not to Mia,” I remind them both, playfully poking at her ribs.
She lets out a laugh because she’s ticklish it would seem. “Stop.”
“Your smile says go,” I tease.
“And Rapey Dude Bro Bray has graced us with his presence,” Ashton deadpans.
Drew snorts. “Bray doesn’t have to rape to get what he wants.”
It irks me that he’s sticking up for me.
“I’m wearing Mia down,” I explain. “Nothing bad about a guy who pursues what he wants.”
Mia, obviously overwhelmed by the stares of three men, snatches up the menu. “What are you guys getting? We can share.”
“She likes pineapple on her pizza,” Ashton reveals. “Better get her a small, because no one wants to share that shit.”
She scoffs, but Drew and I are both in agreeance.
“I’ll get sausage,” I state, knowing Drew likes it too.
“Will you now?” Ashton jokes, smirking at me.
It takes a minute for my brain to catch up. For a split second, I feel exposed by him. Jerking my glare to Drew, I accuse him with just my eyes. But he’s not looking at me. His gaze is soft as he watches Mia.
“Order for me. I’m going to take a piss,” I grumble, sliding out of the booth.
I spend too much time looking at myself in the mirror, wondering what Drew sees. Does he remember the times I bawled my eyes out, begging for the pain to stop? Does he see me as weak? Does he see me as someone who can’t keep their grades up and who deserves to ride the bench because of shitty playing?
Or does he see something else?
I have so much shit bottled up inside me, I feel like a Coke bottle someone’s been shaking over and over. One of these days, the lid is going to come off, and I’m going to explode.
After washing my hands, I exit the bathroom to find Mia waiting there. Her worried expression has me wanting to touch her. Walking right up to her, I do just that. She’s still wearing the beanie, and fuck if it doesn’t do something for my male pride seeing it on her. I toy with a strand of her dark brown hair.
“You okay?” she asks. “You seemed upset.”
“Just off my game today.” I’m surprised at my confession, but seeing as she steps closer, it feels like the right thing to say to her. Something about Mia doesn’t make me feel so… defensive.
“I thought your game was perfect,” she says. “Don’t let that go to your head.”
“Already did,” I tease. “Both of them.”
She laughs and playfully shoves me. Of course she’s about as powerful as a kitten. I grip her wrists, grinning at her.
“How many non-dates are we going to have before our first date?”
“Hmm, maybe three,” she volleys back.
“So a real date is imminent?”
“If you’re a good boy.”
I don’t know the definition of good, but I’ll pull out the Webster’s dictionary and take a fucking look to find out for her.
My hand finds her hip and she doesn’t push me away. “Can a good boy kiss a good girl on the second non-date? Asking for a friend.”
Hesitation wars in her dark eyes. “I, uh…”
Leaning forward, I kiss her forehead. “My friend’s an idiot. I’ll settle for some good ol’ ass whipping on skee-ball instead. Come on, beautiful.”
Relief flashes in her eyes, and she happily takes my hand. Once again, I realize I made the right move. With Mia, she’s different than other girls I’ve been with. Not a fan girl. A real girl. I didn’t realize how much I craved realness until I met her this week.
We head back out to the dining room where Drew and Ashton are already in a heated skee-ball competition. I can’t help but steal a glance at Drew. In his ball cap and fitted black Henley, he seems younger than when he was coaching our team with such ease earlier. In this moment, he wears his youth well, reminding me that he’s our age and not some old-ass dude.